


Crazy =/= Genius

by MalachiJones (miasmicdisaster)



Category: Sugar Pine 7 RPF
Genre: Fake Character Death, Gen, Gore, Violence, deaf undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miasmicdisaster/pseuds/MalachiJones
Summary: Cib, James, and Steven are assigned a mission from the Rooster: save this hostage, at all costs. Eager to prove themselves as newbies, they take it happily, and arrive one minute too late, watching them shoot the hostage in the head. Needless to say, the gunfight that proceeded was messy, especially when Cib separates from them to "flank."





	Crazy =/= Genius

**Author's Note:**

> Major Character Death tag, but not. Prompt fill for @localmagicc on tumblr, who is....so amazing for waiting this long for me to finish this. It only took an all nighter and lots of coffee - I knew what I wanted, just had to write it all down somehow.

He wasn't sure exactly when the headaches started.

Maybe it was when Geoff Ramsey told him they had a hostage situation with a rival gang they needed to handle. Maybe it was on the ride there, when his vape got too hot. Maybe it was when he watched the hostage die before he could stop them. Looking back, it was most likely the screams he heard in the comm in his ear that set it off.

Steven was stuck beside a shut door, watching the sawdust rise in the sunlight. The room they were locked in was relatively dark, black tapestries nails onto the windows, dark grey paint on the chipped walls. The sunlight only leaked in one area, the ever-growing amount of bullet holes in the door. He looked over at James, who was on the other side of the door, reloading his assault rifle with shaking fingers.

"Now what?" Steven asked, blankly, receiving a small shrug from his counterpart. _Jeez, James. That helps._

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the door they were blocking, the sound of someone attempting to kick it in. Steven and James instantly shot back a good feet from the door, looking at each other for a plan on what to do.

"Let us the fuck in, Suptic!" The voice was low and growling, and the fact they knew Steven's real name sent shivers down his spine. After a moment of not replying, the voice spoke once more, "You've got nothing! You failed to save him! Just give yourself up!"

_Him? The hostage was a female-_

Steven stopped dead in his tracks. If he was shaking, he wasn't anymore; his widened eyes stared at James, who had the same look.

"Cib? Cib, check in," James touched the comm in his ear, but all either received was radio silence, a soft buzz of white noise.

"Clayton?" Steven tried his real name, quietly, but received nothing again.

Their attentions were turned once again as the person on the other side of the door pounded. This time, the wood on the side splintered as it nearly gave way. "He's dead, morons! You left him!" He shouted, kicking the door again. The wood started to completely break, now, the corners peeling off like dried glue. In one of the large, broken open bullet holes, a masked face appeared for a slight moment. "You left him to die, and we _gutted him like a pig._ "

Steven felt his rage surge wildly, and he lifted his gun up. He pulled the trigger and the gun fired just as fast, but when he looked to see his kill, there was no one found, except for the dark laughter of the unwounded man. He looked to James, who simply stood there, eyes blank and watery. He looked like he didn't know where he was, or what was happening; he was entirely dissociated. Before Steven could open his mouth to speak, the door finally broke into little pieces, the dark figure pushing through. _Shit!_ Steven lurched back quickly and sloppy, hitting the back of his thigh on a table, losing his footing and collapsing on top of it. The figure turned to James, taking advantage of his shocked state pouncing on him like a tiger. He reacted quickly, dropping his gun and putting his hands on him, trying to push him off him. Steven panicked for a moment, and used the growing anger in his chest to push him forward. He grabbed the man by the shirt, tossing him off of James. He raised his gun, thrusting the handle forward until it connected to his nose. Steven felt it give way like an eggshell, and the man hit the ground like a bag of trash.

"Jesus," James cursed, looking down and the now groaning man on the floor.

Steven collapsed on top of him, straddling his torso. The man flailed his arms upwards, trying to get a shot in but Steven had the upper hand. He brought the butt of his gun down on his nose again, the silence filled with a loud squishing sound. James cursed from above him, turning his head to look away. The man groaned, weakly albeit, and once again tried to push Steven off of him.

" _Asshole_!" Steven cursed, unable to think of a better insult. He saw red, metaphorically and literally. The man's blood underneath him poured out of him like a faucet. There were bits of cartilage fraying off what _used_ to be his nose. He thought he would feel satisfied, but he didn't. So, he kept searching for that feeling, with the thought of Cib in his head. He brought down the butt of his gun again, over and over, until the squishing became the _crack_ of his skull chipping away underneath him. The man gurgled, blood and vomit pooling in his throat no doubt, and Steven kept beating down on him.

James stood there watching a man he no longer knew - instead, this man had fully become the one they call the leader of Sugar Pine 7. A shell, filled with smoke and blood and alcohol where a soul should be. He'd never seen him like that before, and frankly, neither had Steven.

He raised his gun one last time to bring it down, but before he could take the final shot, there was an explosion of lights and smoke. Trevor collapsed to the ground, feeling the man's blood leak into his shirt. His vision went completely white, then black all at once. His ears rung like little bells, loud and right in his head. Steven felt his teeth begin to chatter, pairing well with his shaking hands - the adrenaline and the fear rushed through him like oxygen he breathed. He realized he was on his back, his head turning side to side, trying to gain it's vision back. From the edges, the color and the details slowly returned. He saw the completely shattered head of the man beside him, and James on the other side of him, a sickly look on his face. Steven stood up, his hands going to cup his ringing ears - his hands came back bloody, but there was no way of telling if that was from a burst ear drum or from the man next to him. Above him, smoke clung to the ceiling like hair to a balloon. _They just got flashbanged,_ he thought, feeling his rage slowly return back to him. He rolled over quickly, willing his body into slinging itself into the corner. He still gripped his gun tightly, and he slid up the wall, pointing at the wreck of the door. He still couldn't hear, because James was mouthing something at him while he grabbed his own gun. James squinted towards him, mouthing something Steven could only guess is _can you hear,_ putting a finger to his ear. Steven simply shook his head, wincing as the noise only grew louder as he moved. James kept speaking, his finger on his ear; he looked more focused now, more calm; even content, maybe happy. Steven couldn't focus enough on him to tell.

From the doorway, he saw a dozen figures run by. Steven clenched his jaw and sprinted towards the door. He couldn't hear, but he judged from their reactions, they weren't too happy to see him. He fired rapidly into the crowd, not bothering to aim. He watched a few of them hit the floor, and the others ran for cover. Steven kept firing until the recoil on his weapon stopped, not doubt signaling it either jammed or ran out of ammo. He had no intention of telling. He tossed the gun to the ground and pulled out a long, curved-tip knife from the holster he had it in on his waist. One unarmed man noticed the knife, eyes widening as he brought his hands up to defend himself. Steven's forearm hit his wrists, the tip of the knife barely grazing skin as the man successfully blocked it. The man punched Steven in the abdomen, and he felt his stomach lurch with pain. He thinks he yelled, but he couldn't tell. He brought his knee up, kicking the man in the crotch, who doubled over in pain. Steven swiftly danced behind him, grabbing a handful of dyed black hair and lifting his head up before pushing the knife into his throat, slicing forwards.

He felt a tap on his shoulder that spun him around, knife raised. It was James, he was mouthing something Steven couldn't hear. He shook his head, turning around to run at the few other men left, but saw nothing but a pile of dead bodies. Steven raised an eyebrow, confused. James grabbed his shoulder completely this time, spinning him around. He kept yelling, at least from what Steven could gather through the muffled ringing of his ears. He caught bits. _Fine, Its fine,_ and _knife down,_ which he kept repeating over and over again. He just stared at him, confused, trying to put together the puzzle pieces. James clenched his jaw, ripping the knife out of Steven's hand, pointing the blade behind him.

Out of a separate room came walking a ghost. Cib, running a hand through a tuft of dark hair. He was breathing heavily, rope burns on his wrist, but he was safe. Steven's eyes widened; the man must have lied to try and get them to give up. They knew the one thing that would make Steven lose it. His friends.

Steven sprinted forward, hugging Cib so hard he nearly tumbled over, knocking him against the wall and barely giving him the means to hug back. Steven was speaking, but he couldn't quite hear himself. He tried to say, _I thought you were dead. I thought they hurt you. I lost my temper._ Cib's chest bounced up and down quickly, vibrating against Steven's with no doubt laughter, and even though he couldn't hear it, Steven smiled, too. Smiled because he knew that the one weakness he had was also his strength; sure, he loved his friends, but god forbid anyone hurt them. The next time someone lays a finger on one of the heads of his boys, they're going to regret the day they decided to fuck with Steven Suptic.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always more appreciated than kudos; follow and send requests on my tumblr, @mundej.


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